Rescuing the Rescuer
by Robin Mask
Summary: Peter never expected to be saved. It was difficult to endure the fact that he was alive against his will, but more so to endure the guilt that followed. Wade was terrified of losing Peter, the one person he loved above all else, and so he worried more than all others. It was almost worse to deal with this 'worry-Wade' than it was the depression itself. One-Shot. Formatting Fixed


**Rescuing the Rescuer**

_Please, help me . . . _

It hurt more than he expected. He was used to pain; he had been shot, cut and bruised. He had been beaten by bullies and attacked by villains, so that there was very little form of violence that he had yet to experience, and all of this he endured with a forced smile. Peter rarely let anyone see the extent of his suffering. The villains didn't need another reason to gloat, just as his aunt and friends didn't need a reason to worry, and so he kept it secret. He kept it _hidden_.

There had been countless times when he had been forced to explain his injuries, usually in contrived and imaginative ways, and he had become something of an expert at hiding his pain from those around him. He had needed to be strong for his aunt when his uncle passed, although he could never reveal to her the part he played in his death. He needed to be strong for his team, although they never appreciated the work that he did for them. It was as if he had begun to wear his mask all year round. The times when he could be himself were thin, so that even his closest friends had noticed a change in him, and yet there were very few people that he could tell the truth. There was no one that he could talk with or trust!

Peter knew that he had alienated those closest to him. He had pushed Harry away so much that they could barely be called friends any longer, but he _couldn't_ tell the older boy about his secret identity and yet they couldn't stay friends with such secrecy! It had gotten to the point that Peter was breaking engagements and leaving early, and – in fact – Harry had even been forced to spend his birthday alone . . . Peter didn't even want to think about how abandoned he must have felt. He was a bad friend, but it was hardly as if he had friends left at this point.

_I can't keep feeling this way . . . _

He felt the pain in his wrist sharp, almost like a burn, and it stung in ways he couldn't imagine, and yet it wasn't pain in any way that he had felt it before. There wasn't the sense that it was something unbearable, but just that this was something localised and something moderate. Peter clenched his fingers into a fist, trying to fight back the twinges of discomfort and the stinging sensation, but that only made it so much worse, and so he simply allowed his arm to fall limp. It floated upon the water in a way that seemed highly unnatural.

The blood had begun to swirl about the warm water. It made Peter smile, although he felt dizzy and light-headed, and it looked so beautiful . . . it was like smoke illuminated by a sharp light . . . he watched as streams of blood began to dance. They almost looked like figures, as the water began to turn a strange shade of red, and soon the entire water was growing darker and darker. There was a sense of static to his vision, where he was reminded of the snow on his uncle's old television set. He almost felt as if he could fall asleep at any moment. Peter let his head fall back on the porcelain of the bathtub, where it felt rather cold against his skin . . . why did it feel cold?

_It won't be long. I just need to sleep. _

Peter felt his breathing begin to quicken, so that his chest felt heavy and breathing became something of a chore, but the water around him lapped just slightly and the sensation only hastened his anxiety. The humidity in the air made him uncomfortable. He just wanted to close his eyes and keep them closed . . . the steam meant that his glasses had been useless, as they sat on the neatly folded pile of clothes just feet away on the laundry basket . . . he had forgotten to put his contacts in, so the only thing he could see was the bloody water.

He knew he should have been stronger, but he just wasn't the hero that Fury expected him to become. The news painted him out to be a monster, no matter how much he strove to do right by the city's citizens, and Harry was barely on speaking terms with him any longer, and the isolation . . . the guilt . . . he couldn't bear it. He couldn't do right for doing wrong. It felt like no matter how hard he tried, no matter what he did, someone got hurt! He hurt his friends, his colleagues, even his classmates . . . he needed to stop hurting people, but he just couldn't step back and allow bad things to happen. He needed -. He needed to make it stop.

This was the only way. The pain would stop _with him_. There was something _wrong _with him. He couldn't take the humiliation of Fury revealing his personal secrets to the group, just as he couldn't take being attacked and belittled by teammates that didn't wish to be associated with him, and he couldn't take being the butt of all of Flash's jokes! He – he wasn't sure whether he was better than the treatment he received, but that was so vain to think . . . vanity . . .

'_Petey?'_

There was no other way! He – he was just seventeen . . . that meant another year of Coulson trying to teach him lessons, Fury punishing him for the smallest of infractions, and more lying to his aunt . . . his aunt would be better off without him. He – he couldn't do this. He couldn't do this! It hurt to breathe at times. The tears would come, which would have been mortifying should anyone see them . . . he didn't have a right to cry. There were people that had gone through so much worse . . . he had hurt so many people . . . it trivialised their suffering to compare it to his pain. He just wanted to redeem himself.

'_You in there, baby boy?'_

Peter turned his head to the sound. There was a great pain in his head as he moved, almost as if someone was sawing into his skull, and he could feel the blood pounding in his pulse. He winced and tried to breathe deeply . . . the pain began to fade . . . he felt thirsty. It couldn't be natural to be this thirsty, but his mouth felt so dry and he felt as if he were hyperventilating, and all the while he felt light-headed to the extent that he may sleep at any moment.

He was confused by it all, especially as he couldn't quite remember where he was or what he had done, but he felt . . . relaxed. No, not relaxed. It was such a complex set of feelings, where he knew that an end was coming, where he wouldn't feel any kind of pain ever again, but there was something more there, too. He felt afraid. He didn't know what awaited him . . . he wondered how his aunt would feel to lose him . . . it was better this way. He knew it would be better . . . he could hear banging . . . noise . . . he just wanted his pain to end.

"Shit! Petey, what the fuck did you do?"

"W-Wade? I – sorry . . . don't . . . I want –"

It wouldn't stop. It made his heart felt so heavy . . . his world just didn't fit anymore, he couldn't make sense of it, but it would stop . . . it would stop! It would soon stop. When would it stop? When would it be over? There was pain now, pain so real that it didn't seem possible, it was as if he were both hurt and yet numb, but that couldn't be real. It was so disorientating, so confusing, but he couldn't – he just couldn't –

"Just listen to my voice, alright? I'm going to keep talking so –"

"It's nice . . . hearing you . . . nice."

"_Fuck. _Tell me to shut up, Petey. You always tell me to shut up. I'm just the guy that blabs and bitches and annoys the crap out of cute little spiders, but remember when you told me that I had to face Fury? I mean, how can I face him if -? Petey? Petey!"

The water suddenly seemed to move. It lapped around his body, whilst his head fell sharply backwards. Peter felt a sharp pain in his neck. He felt sleepy . . . his eyes couldn't stay open and he knew that he was fading away . . . he could hear water and waves. Why could he hear water? The tide of the water tried to pull him under. His hands slipped. His arms fell and suddenly there was a sense of falling, where his legs lifted without him realising, and his arms hung lifelessly without any strength . . .

Peter's mind began to spin, whilst thoughts merged and the pain faded in and out. He felt his head fall back again; he was hanging lifelessly . . . his hair stuck to his skin . . . there was a voice. Who was it? _What_ was it? What did it want? He didn't want to hear it, but suddenly he was lying down and he felt so comfortable . . . so warm . . . the voice spoke to him even as it clothed him with soft, woollen blankets and towels. The voice was firm. The voice was gravelly and angry, but pained and soothing. It seemed to be everything at once, and it kept his arms held upwards and it stroked his hair and it spoke to him . . . why?

He opened his eyes and saw several men at once. There was only one, but they blurred in and out of his vision . . . one man . . . three men . . . one man. They all wore a red mask with black eyes . . . they became multiple faces, then blurred back into one . . .

"Peter, hold on! It's – it's going to be okay! I fucking swear to you!"

Then the voice faded away . . .

Sleep came.

(Line Break)

* * *

><p>'<em>I'm asking you to leave.'<em>

'_Yeah, well I'm telling you that I ain't going!'_

Peter groaned silently from his spot on the staircase. He could hear his aunt bickering with Wade, which – quite frankly – came as something as a surprise, because the very last person that he had expected to invade his home had been _Wade. _It had been Wade's shouting that had woken him up, especially when it had been so early in the morning that it was still dark out, and he had to struggle to pull himself out of bed. He had managed to dress himself in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, but he worried that he looked too casual for guests.

He let his head drop forward and reached up to push back his hair, but he used his left hand and it applied a pressure to his wrist that he hadn't been prepared to feel. Peter hissed and pulled his hand back. The white bandage around his skin appeared unblemished, which meant that he hadn't reopened his wound or torn any stitches, but he hated the way that it ran from the inside of his wrist to the inside of his elbow. They had told him that the scarring would be minimal, which may be less than minimal when he considered his slight healing factor, but the bandages felt tight on him and felt so constraining. He wanted to tear them off, but it had taken over a week to get released from hospital . . . he didn't want to risk being sent back.

'_Listen here, young man! You have no right to be here –'_

'_Bullshit! I was the one watching him from the hospital window all week! You were only there during visiting hours, but I was the one that never left his side . . . technically . . . okay, well, I never left his vicinity! I was even out there during that rainstorm! I had to pee from the window-ledge! It was awful! Anyway, I want to check out everyone in Peter's life, because clearly _someone _is hurting him! Whoever made him feel like shit is going to pay!'_

'_Oh, so you think that _I_ would hurt my nephew? I love that boy dearly. I do not take well to the insinuation that I would do anything that would hurt that child, especially from a man that barges into my home in a costume like yours! Give me one good reason why I shouldn't call the police? You're more a threat to my nephew than I certainly am!'_

'_Please! Do you know who I am? I am the pool of death: Deadpool!'_

'_A mercenary? You're that insane _mercenary_?'_

'_You say that like it's a bad thing!'_

Peter shook his head and pulled himself up. It took him longer than he would have liked, considering that he was forced to use just one hand and tried to keep his left raised high, but he managed to climb to his feet. In the kitchen he could hear his aunt screaming abuse at Wade, as she reminded the mercenary that the young boy upstairs was all that she had left, and that she would be very willing to forcibly escort out the man that appeared to be stalking her nephew. Wade, meanwhile, sounded angrier and angrier at such accusations.

He wandered into the kitchen, although he hid his left arm behind his back and used his left hand to grip his right forearm, too self-conscious to let them see the bandages. The sight of his aunt weeping over him – with eyes red and unable to breathe in her panic – would be etched into his memory forever, so that even now he felt a stab of guilt in his stomach, and he would have to live with the knowledge that she had nearly lost the one person she had left in her life . . . the one person she loved and cherished . . . most of all he had to live with the shame that he had been the one to hurt her. He drew in a shuddered breath and forced a smile.

There stood his aunt by the dining table, where she appeared somewhat dishevelled, as if she had been forced out of bed by some sort of noise or occurrence, and she was dressed only in a loose dressing gown tied at her waist. Peter would have called Sam in any other circumstance, as clearly something was up and it was almost enough to make him need the support of his team, but he knew – without a doubt – that there was no real threat here. The memories of the previous week were a blur, but he knew that Wade had saved him . . . he hated him for that.

"Is everything okay?" Peter asked.

Wade was stood by the oven, with a sizzling frying pan on the stove and a pile of pancakes plated to one side, and on his head there was a chef's hat. It was pretty clear that his aunt had been woken up by the mercenary's cooking, although it was sweet in a way that he decided to be helpful and make breakfast. Peter tried not to frown. He resented that Wade – the one person he loved so much – had betrayed him in such a way. Wade had suffered so terribly in life, so that he knew what real pain was and had been suicidal himself, but yet he had forced Peter to live . . . staunched his wounds, taken him to hospital . . . he had forced Peter to live a life that he couldn't bear. He suffered for Wade.

The older man did look rather handsome, which made Peter blush at the thought. He was supposed to be angry with Wade, not checking him out! Peter tried to ignore how the black-and-red outfit clung perfectly to his body, just as how he tried not to look at how the pink and frilly apron suited his muscular frame well, and he _certainly_ tried to forget the way that other pink and frilly items suited his boyfriend much better. It had been a shock to learn that Wade made his own dresses, but it had turned into a pleasant surprise for sure . . .

"Dude, tell your aunt that I'm good!"

"I don't care who you think you are," May snapped. "My nephew is in a very fragile state of mind and he does not need stalkers breaking into our house. I'm glad you saved his life, for which I'll be eternally grateful, but you've done your deed and now you can leave."

"Fuck that! I told you!" Wade shouted back. "I'm going to check out every single person in Petey's life; any of them could hurt him or make him do this again! I'm not going to lose Petey! How do I know that you're being super nice to him? I only have his word for it! I'm going to make sure that everyone at work and school and in the street -! Hey, do you have a record? I can find out if you do! Well, who doesn't have a record, right? Say, Petey! Do you want maple syrup? It's delicious on pancakes!"

"Peter, do you know this man? Do I need to call the police?"

"He's – er – my boyfriend," said Peter.

He slid into a seat by the table. It was difficult to look up from the placemat in front of him, because he knew what shame and pity he would see in his aunt's eyes. May was a wonderful woman, one who had taken him into her home and raised him as her own, and he had lied to her about being Spider-Man and about his boyfriend. He didn't want to explain how Wade Wilson – also known as 'Deadpool' – was actually a good guy once you got to know him, just as he hadn't wanted to explain that Wade was much older, but now . . .

May would be afraid that Wade was taking advantage, being that he was a grown man dating a teenager, and she would probably be afraid that he was abusive or controlling, considering that he was known as being a deadly mercenary. How could he convince her that Wade was actually the sweetest man alive? No, how could he convince her that her nephew could still be trusted? He had _lied _to her. May would want to know what else he had hidden from her, as well as what other secrets lurked in his past, and she would ask whether they contributed to his suicide attempt. She would want to _talk_ about it, when Peter just wanted to forget.

He looked to Wade, who wore a bright grin underneath his mask, as if he felt infinite pride on being identified publicly as Peter's boyfriend. There was a straightening of his back, where he puffed out his chest and shifted from foot to foot, and he turned his head to the side to look in Peter's way. It made him look down in shame. Wade treated Peter like some sort of god, as if it were an honour just to be in the same _room_ as him, and Peter had essentially tried to throw that way. He wondered whether his suicide attempt felt like an attempt at abandonment.

"Your friend that saved you -?"

"- is my boyfriend," said Peter. "Yes."

There was a low hiss from his aunt. He looked in her direction, as he ignored the plate of pancakes that suddenly appeared before him and the masked man that sat down beside him, but he could see that she was quite afraid and angry at this revelation. She appeared conflicted, because – on the one hand – her nephew was in a fragile state and needed unconditional support, as well as the fact that any source of happiness was one worth keeping in his life, but Wade was also a threat. May only knew him as the man that had 'stalked' her nephew during his hospital stay and chose to break into their house to make breakfast.

The kitchen felt rather cold all of a sudden, although he wondered whether he was only just noticing due to the tension in the room, and – as he began to slowly eat the pancakes – he sensed both pairs of eyes upon his wrist. He loathed the idea that they were now seeing him for the mess of scars and emotional problems, rather than his own person, as if he were some broken doll in need of mending . . . he didn't need or want mending. He just wanted some sort of peace and purpose. He could find that in time, but not with their silent judgement.

"I think this is something we should mention to your therapist," she said.

"Great!" Wade clapped his hands together. "I'll take him! It'll be a great chance to check the records and make some phone calls, because what else are you supposed to do in the waiting room? I'll make sure that the therapist is all legit and stuff, so that when Peter comes out we'll know he's seeing the very best of the best! Hey, do you think Tony Stark will know some good therapists? He seems the therapist sort."

"I don't think so," said May coldly. "I will take my nephew to his appointment. If you're worried, you can stay here and do some chores. Let me tell you, I'll be making some phone calls of my own during _my _wait in the waiting room. If you don't check out in the least, or you get so much as a single bad reference, I'll be calling the Avengers myself!"

"Fine, you make your calls! I'll still follow you to the office!"

"Just so you know: I don't approve of stalkers."

Peter stabbed at his plate of pancakes. They were already talking over him and making decisions for him, as if he hadn't the state of mind to even decide for himself the basic factors of his life. He hated that his whole life had been dictated by S.H.I.E.L.D. at the best of times, so that Coulson had begun to date his aunt and work at his school, but now what little of a personal life he had was being decided by his boyfriend and aunt. It was as if he had no voice of his own. The cut on his arm was the closest he had come to actually _expressing _how he felt, but still no one seemed to _hear_ him! He shook his head and spoke quietly:

"Great, can we just eat and talk about this later?"

"Sure thing, Petey," said Wade. 

(Line Break)

* * *

><p>Peter looked in his bedroom mirror.<p>

It was his first day back at school, after his accident two weeks ago, and he wanted to make sure that he looked normal enough to blend in and not attract attention. The very last thing he wanted was for everyone to be watching him and talking about him and following him, because he still had a right to privacy and as much of a normal life that he could get, but – in all honesty – this would make for good gossip. The chances were that he would hear the whispers and feel the shoves no matter what he wore.

He felt that he looked okay in his loose jeans and plain sweatshirt, which he had completed by throwing a short-sleeved shirt over the top, and so he managed to hide his arm and still look somewhat fashionable. It was hard to miss the fact that he had lost weight, as well as the fact that he looked considerably paler than usual, but he had spent the morning showering and styling himself, and so he felt . . . well . . . _okay. _He actually felt something close to good, even if he wasn't quite there yet, and – for the first time in a long time – there was a hope that maybe there could be an end to his pain. He felt that maybe he had options.

Peter drew in a deep breath and looked around his room. He could see Wade's nest of blankets on the floor, where he had slept for the past two weeks, and he tried not to shudder at the memory of waking up to Wade _watching _him a fair few times. Aunt May would not let them share the bed, although Wade had sneaked into it a few times after her final 'goodnight' and the sound of her bedroom light clicking off, and – to be honest – it hadn't been too bad.

He was starting to feel less alone . . .

"Petey, you're here!"

Peter turned with a smile to look at Wade. He closed the door softly behind him, as if he expected the sound to spook Peter in some way, and he stood nervously with an awkward smile upon his face. It was nice to see him looking so natural, because it showed that he felt comfortable and safe in the presence of Peter. Wade stood in loose trousers and wore a large, red hooded top. He completed the look with a black baseball cap. The scars on his face were angry and red, but the sharp jawline and emotive brown eyes were clear nonetheless.

"Where else would I be? First day back at school."

"I know, baby boy," said Wade. "I just hate the idea of letting you out of my sight! Do you know how many kids slice their wrists in a cubicle or shoot their brains out in front of their classmates? Way too many! Do you think your teachers would notice if I sat next to you?"

"Do I think my teachers would notice my forty-something boyfriend sitting next to me during all my classes? You know . . . I think they just might. I'll be with Ava and the gang all day, so you don't have to worry about me being alone, and I'll be finished at around three, so you can pick me up with Aunt May then. I have my phone on me, but try not to ring during lessons, and it's not as though I'll be alone long enough to do something stupid, even if I brought something with me _to_ do something stupid. I'll be fine."

"Wait? What do you mean by that? _Have _you brought something with you?" Wade suddenly paled and he bit his lip to the point that blood was drawn. "Please, don't hurt yourself again, sweetums! I-I'll be the best boyfriend ever, I swear! You know I don't hear the voices anymore? Crazy story! You'd love to hear it! It's so lonely without the voices though."

"I know you'd be even lonelier without me," whispered Peter. "I'm sorry for what I did."

"So you don't have any blades on you? You're not going to hurt yourself?"

"Wade, I never meant for you to find me that way."

It was then that Wade marched across the room. He looked more afraid than anything else, so that his lip was beading with blood, and his brown eyes seemed awash with unshed tears, and – for Wade to show this level of emotion sans his mask – it showed an infinite trust or a complete change in his priorities. Wade reached up with a calloused and scarred hand to stroke Peter's cheek, which caused the younger boy to nuzzle into the touch. He enjoyed the moment of intimacy and felt as if he could forget his pain for a moment.

"Who did you mean to find you?" Wade asked.

Wade reached out to Peter's pockets, almost possessively, but Peter swatted away the hand in frustration. He had enough of his privacy invaded when his aunt went through his computer's search history, when Wade searched his drawers for hidden blades, and when Ava trailed him everywhere he went during school. He did _not_ need his pockets to be searched, too. Peter pushed Wade away, but his boyfriend only became more aggressive in his search.

He began to pull and tug at Peter's pockets, so that the younger boy was forced to shove and push back, so that soon it became something close to a fight. Eventually Wade spun him around by the waist, before he wrapped his arms about Peter's chest, so that the younger boy found himself immobilised by the muscular forearm blocking the crooks of his arms. He reached up and clawed at Wade, but the mercenary took his scratches without flinching. Peter jumped up and kicked out or to overbalance Wade, but he merely stood and held his ground. Wade's right hand soon found its way into his pocket, where he pulled out his phone and let Peter go in order to try and dismantle it. Peter felt tears of frustration rise to his eyes.

"I – I don't _know_ who I meant to find me!"

Peter tried to snatch back his phone, but Wade quickly dodged out of the way, so that soon his phone existed in multiple parts and pieces. It was as if he no longer had any right to his personal property, to his own life, and he just wanted to have things go back to normal! Okay, so maybe his _normal_ was what had driven him to his suicide attempt, but he would much rather be dead than to have no right to his life! Wade seemed to be looking for hidden blades, but he wouldn't find any – in fact he _didn't _find any – and so he fixed it and threw it back.

Peter caught it with fast reflexes. He made to shove the phone back into his pocket, but the mercenary at once caught him and began patting down his clothing, as if he were looking for something else, something that was hidden from sight. There were hands all over him, in a way that made security at an airport look rather lenient, and he felt those hands touching areas that only a _really_ determined person would hide an item. He slapped Wade rather hard.

"Wade -? Wade, stop!"

"You said you could bring weapons into school! You never said that you didn't have any, even when I asked you! What if – what if you have some on you and I failed to spot them? I – I could be the reason that you die, baby boy! I have to make sure! I just need to know!"

"Wade, when I tried to kill myself . . . I was in a really bad place! I – I thought that you and May and Ava and MJ . . . I thought you would all be much better off without me, because everywhere I go _people get hurt. _I hate that everywhere I go that people control me, or bully me, or belittle me! I felt as if . . . as if _I _were the problem, because I was the one common denominator! They all picked on _me_, so there had to be something wrong with _me._

"I – I don't know -! I got into this place where everything felt dark and painful, so that every time I woke up I was just filled with _dread_, like I knew that I was going to be made to suffer, but then even if I _tried_ to do well that I'd only be screwing up. The media hates Spider-Man, even though I try to be a good guy and save people . . . even if I could hide from the world, how could I hide from myself? I heard this voice in my head over and over, just criticising me and mocking me, and I was tired all the time, everything was just such an effort! I just wanted an _out_! I didn't see any other way. I didn't know what else to do!"

"So – so you were desperate? What happened if I hadn't come around to see my little Spidey? You – you waited until May had left the house . . . you waited until your team were on a mission . . . you disabled Fury's cameras! You would have died, baby boy, and I'd have been pulling out your corpse from the water! I'd have been too late! I'd have killed you!"

"No, Wade! No, don't think like that! I can't deal with that kind of guilt!"

"Just let me make sure . . . please . . ."

It was then that Peter felt himself pushed back onto the bed. Wade was in the process of trying to remove his shirt, probably to search his body for any blades or medicines or anything that could harm him in any way, but Peter knew that it wouldn't stop the worry. It wouldn't stop the fear that he could have found weapons elsewhere or jump in front of a car or runaway somewhere . . . the fear would continue . . . he did that to Wade.

He batted away his boyfriend's hands and sat up, and then pulled Wade between his opened knees and took a hold of his hands. They were warm to the touch, although they trembled slightly in his hold, and he brushed the backs of them with his thumbs and brought them to his lips, where he placed a soft and chaste kiss to the palms of each. Wade lowered his head anxiously. He was probably afraid that Peter would criticise him for attempting a strip search, as if he were nothing more than a suspect or a target, but he realised just why his boyfriend was worried. He also knew that he _owed_ it to Wade to reassure him and to gain back his trust.

Peter stood up and let go of Wade's hands, so that he could wrap his arms around his boyfriend's neck instead, at which point he brought his lips to the other man and kissed him with as much love and passion as he could summon. It was gentle, enough that it was nothing more than a movement of lips upon lips at first, so he could feel how chapped and cut the other man's mouth was today, but soon he brought out his tongue to taste and to feel and to heighten the intimacy. He pulled away with a sigh, as he felt the moisture on his lip.

"You can walk me to school," said Peter, "if you like?"

"Can we talk . . . about why you did it?"

"Sure, let's talk."

(Line Break)

* * *

><p><em>Three weeks since the accident . . . <em>

Peter drew in a deep breath and closed the bathroom door behind him. The lock had been removed the very day after his accident, which Aunt May had done herself, and now there was a rule in place: 'closed is occupied, open is vacant'. It had taken a long few days for Wade to get the knack of that rule, so that plenty of times the mercenary had walked in on Peter's showers . . . a few punches and screams from Peter – and inevitable rants from Aunt May – had soon solved that. It wasn't that he objected to sharing the shower, but . . .

There were times when a guy just wanted to be _alone_. It had been a great relief that now Wade would knock the door or ask beforehand if Peter wanted company, but he would always seem to camp outside the door or knock if Peter spent more than five minutes in there, as if he were afraid that his boyfriend had done something stupid again. How long did these kind of reactions last? He knew that they were afraid and worried for him, but he was starting to feel that they couldn't just sweep this under some rug, as if he was going to be forced to confront his actions and take responsibility. Right . . . that was the issue: responsibility.

"What would Uncle Ben say?"

Peter looked up at the bathroom mirror. He clenched his hands around the sink basin and drew in another deep breath, because he knew that he couldn't hide any longer. It had been discussed with his therapist for a long time now, especially as he had thrice weekly appointments, and he had even discussed this with Danny too, as he _knew _what it was like to lead a double life and was the most sympathetic of his group. Peter would need to discuss his problems with his aunt and boyfriend, so that he could _deal _with them in a healthy manner.

"I can do this," he whispered.

"Do what, Petey? Can I help out?"

He turned to see Wade peeking his head around the door, which – quite frankly – was the very last straw. Peter deserved privacy! It wasn't fair that he had to argue just for the right to keep his bedroom door, or that the only reason he was allowed to keep it was his new live-in chaperone boyfriend, but he could have been . . . well . . . _using_ the facilities. There was a lot that he would share with Wade, but not _that_. Peter huffed in frustration.

It was quite lucky that Wade had healing factors, because the door was slammed hard enough on his neck that a normal human would have had some serious problems at that moment, but – as he pulled back with a gasping cough – Peter shoved the door fully closed, before he kicked it hard in defiance. This was beyond a joke! It was true that he was back in the very room in which he had his accident, but the bathtub still appeared to have a slight red tinge to it and he always smelled the iron scent of blood when he came in, even if the rugs and shower curtains had all been changed. This was almost an entirely different room.

"I'm fine," he shouted. "I just need time to think."

"Okay, well, think aloud? Let me know you're okay in there!"

Peter groaned and dropped his head in frustration.

_He could do this . . ._

(Line Break)

* * *

><p>Spider-Man jumped in through his window . . .<p>

There was just one real reason why that surprised Peter: he _was_ Spider-Man. He had spent the past four weeks wondering why his name was still in the papers, because he hadn't once left the house in his costume, not least because he couldn't support his weight with his bad wrist and arm. They had nearly healed, but _nearly_ was the key word. He had been suspicious when he heard how Spider-Man had saved the day or beat up the bad guys, but he simply put it down to over-zealous journalism, but now he was faced with the truth.

This was a Spider-Man that had access to his costume, as well as _reeked_ of Mexican food and blood, and he was built so well that the costume barely fit him in any way shape or form, and that wasn't too mention how he acted only between midnight and dawn, when Peter would usually be wrapping up to go to sleep. Contrary to popular belief, most common crimes didn't happen so early in the morning, because there weren't as many people to mug, there weren't as many empty houses to rob, and there weren't as many people walking the streets to attack. There were big crimes, yes, but those were usually dealt with by the Avengers or Fantastic Four or other big groups . . . so just what was this guy _doing_?

Peter rubbed at his temples and leaned against his bedroom door, where he looked at this mysterious Spider-Man with a very dark glare, and he had to shake his head when Wade sheepishly pulled off his mask. There was a hole in it, which had substantial amount of brain matter and blood around it, and he was under no doubt that his boyfriend had been shot at some point. He hoped no one had caught _that _on film. The very last thing he needed was for people to think that Spider-Man was _dead_ of all things!

"Er – hey, Petey!"

"No, don't 'hey' me! What do you think you're doing?"

"I can explain, baby boy," said Wade, as he peeled off the suit. "Keep your voice down though, because I can't explain this to your aunt! If she catches me naked with a Spider-Man suit next to me, it'll be like we're into some crazy role-play, which is totally insane! I mean, if I were going to do the role-play thing, I have this totally hot dress at home that you would so love, plus this matching set of –"

"Wade, I mean it! My reputation as Spider-Man is at stake here, not to mention that I was so scared when I woke up and you were just _gone, _and you've been acting so _weird _for weeks! I need some sort of explanation! Will you just tell me what's going on?"

"Okay, okay! Just stop shouting, will you?"

"_I'm not_ -! I'm not shouting."

Peter watched as Wade removed the last of the costume, which revealed that he had nothing on underneath, which made Peter groan loudly and pinch the bridge of his nose. He walked over to his soiled and torn costume, where he snatched it up and threw it over to his desk, and he felt immensely grateful that tomorrow was a weekend day, so he could spend all day sewing it up and mending it back to its original condition. He turned around to see that Wade had thrown himself under the covers of the bed . . . without dressing.

It took him a long moment to calm himself down, but eventually he managed to crawl under the blankets next to his boyfriend, who at once began to nuzzle into him and wrapped his arms around him. Peter had to admit that it made him feel better. It was hard to feel angry with Wade when the older man pressed his bare chest to Peter's back, where his hands wrapped around his pyjama-clad body and held him tight, as if to remind him that he wasn't alone and would never be alone. Wade was warm and firm, and he could even feel the other man's breath against his cheek. He moaned low in his throat against his will, which caused Wade to laugh with a low rumble. They lay in silence for a while.

"Why are you wearing my costume?"

"Does it turn you on, Petey?" Wade laughed and nuzzled closer. "Look, I just hated the idea that you might have gone out to save the day again, because -! Petey, I -! I love you, Petey; I love you so much that it hurts! I nearly lost you once . . . I don't want to make you feel bad about what happened, because you were depressed and depression is an illness . . . you weren't to blame! Promise me you won't blame yourself! If you blame yourself then you'll feel bad, so you'll do it again and then you'll be gone and –

"Look, just because I can heal, it doesn't mean that _you _can! I can slit my wrists or hang myself, but I'll get right back up again in seconds! Hell, if some bastard shoots me in the face, it don't matter! I know you aren't like me though . . . I guess I never realised it before . . . I came by for some super fun, sexy times! I came by to see my little Spidey! I didn't think that you'd be -! You felt all limp and cold in my hands, all clammy and lifeless! I – I thought you were – I thought you were dead! I was scared and I cried and my mask was all wet! I realised that you're only human and can die! Don't -! Don't be Spider-Man anymore, please?"

"Wade, if I stop living my life in case I die, then I may as well not have survived at all," said Peter. "I know I hurt you. It kills me a little every day inside, but I need to make amends and show people that I'm not going to hurt them again . . . that I won't hurt _myself_ again. I will be Spider-Man. You know that, right? It doesn't mean anything bad will happen to me, because life is itself a risk, but . . . I promise I'll do everything I can to be safe."

"You can't be completely safe, though! I can't lose you -! I can't -!"

"Wade, I'm still young and I can heal, too."

"You can't heal like I can!"

Peter rolled over and wrapped his arms around Wade's neck. He pressed his nose against his lover's, as well as lightly touched his lips to his partner's, but he held off from any real kisses or deep embraces. There were very few moments when Wade showed his true insecurities and fears, especially when he usually hid behind a mask of fake laughter and bad jokes, but this was something real and needed to be treated accordingly. The truth was that Peter would one day die, but with magic and science and technology . . .

They had options, some more extreme than others, but there were options nonetheless, but when Peter didn't even know if he wanted to _live_ – let alone whether he wanted to live as long as Wade – then such a talk felt premature. He could understand Wade's fears, but that he had been so obsessive and possessive over something like _this _-! Ironically, it was the first time in a very long time that Peter wanted to live, where he actually wanted a real life and to take chances and to prove himself -! He loved Wade, so the idea that he had hurt him was unbearable, but he needed to live his life in order to prove that he would never hurt him again, so that their relationship could return to being one of equals and trust. It would take time.

He sighed and pressed a kiss to Wade's lips. The kiss was chaste and delicate, so that they parted before it had even really began, but they held onto each other in a way to reassure each other that they were _there_. They weren't going anywhere. He had hurt Wade by trying to leave, reaffirming the man's worst fears of abandonment and rejection, and so now he would spend his life reminding Wade that he was worth _so much more. _He was worth a second-chance at life. He was worth staying alive. He was worth _life._

"I promise you: this is just the start of our life together."

"Petey? You won't leave me, will you?"

"I came back for you, didn't I?"

Wade smiled and held tightly to Peter, as he nuzzled into his neck and placed soft kisses to his pale column of skin, and Peter laughed and ran his hands over his lover's head and down his back. He would do whatever it took. The truth was that every single day was a battle, but finally he saw that he had something worth fighting for, and he would fight every single day with therapy and with his family to find his way again. He would be strong for Wade.

"I'll never leave you again."


End file.
